


Have Patience

by KeevaCaereni



Category: Warcraft (2016)
Genre: M/M, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-25
Updated: 2017-03-25
Packaged: 2018-10-10 17:18:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10443045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KeevaCaereni/pseuds/KeevaCaereni
Summary: Khadgar would really like to know why Lothar hasn't bedded him yet.





	

Khadgar is getting frustrated: it’s been almost a year now since they destroyed the Dark Portal, and Lothar has still not made a move.

Of course he didn’t expect it immediately after the battle, romantic and life-affirming as that would have been. King Lane was dead, Medivh was dead, _Callan_ was dead, and they had so many new alliances to forge, treaties to broker, that there was barely time even had it been in the least bit appropriate. Still, there are times, when Khadgar is talking earnestly with some ambassador or other and he sees Lothar watching him, eyes dark: he is sure the man is interested.

Why doesn’t he _do_ anything about it?

Khadgar has made it easy for him: as the months have passed, he’s made sure to spend time with Lothar as much as their busy schedules allow: he’s gone on patrols, attended meetings and gamely made an appearance at the many royal events Queen Taria has held to strengthen ties. Many nights Khadgar has visited The Gilded Rose with Lothar, joking and laughing. As one night went on Khadgar found himself looking up at Lothar through his eyelashes during a quiet moment to see Lothar looking back, tankard frozen halfway to his mouth. Khadgar blinked and just started to lean into Lothar, when the landlord came over to see if they wanted a top-up and the moment was lost.

Once Lothar startled him bathing in the stream after a battle. Khadgar was shrugging out of his robe wearily when Lothar saw him, collarbones bare in the sun and Khadgar thought that was it, but Lothar just swallowed and apologised for disturbing him. As they chatted on the ride back to Goldshire, Khadgar was sure he saw Lothar’s eyes fall to his mouth, but when he looked again, Lothar teased him about his seat. Khadgar knows he didn’t imagine it.

 

* * *

 

With spring has come a wave of trade from the other kingdoms. Khadgar is talking with the dullest craftswoman he’s ever met, a jeweller from Quel’Thalas who has some interesting techniques for capturing magic in stones, to be activated later. He’s questioning her about her prices, annoyed by her habit of running fingers through her hair and smirking, when he feels eyes on him. He turns to see Lothar glaring at her from an alcove. He tries to continue haggling, but eventually he can’t take the dark looks anymore. He makes his excuses and stomps over to Lothar.

“What?” he asks flatly.

Lothar looks anywhere but at Khadgar. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“ _Lothar_. Is she secretly a spy? Do you have a longstanding feud with the high elves? What is it?”

Lothar snorts despite himself. “No, no feud.”

Khadgar glares at him. “Then what?”

Lothar sighs and leans forward. “Your charming friend already has a lover.”

“…Okay,” Khadgar says, trying to see what this has to do with anything.

“There are many other beauties in the realm who have no such commitments,” Lothar tries, staring at Khadgar as if pleading with him to understand.

Suddenly Khadgar gets it. “Oh!” He laughs. “I’m not interested in her looks, Lothar, I’m interested in her craft.” He pushes Lothar, pulling back his hand before it can linger. “Do you think I would do such a thing?”

“I wasn’t sure you were aware. You’re not the most observant, you know,” says Lothar, looking much happier all of a sudden. He ruffles Khadgar’s hair and sets off to the main hall.

Khadgar follows, grinning. Now he’s getting somewhere.

 

* * *

 

Khadgar throws himself into sparring with Lothar, claiming to want more practice defending himself in these troubled times. It’s no lie: the war comes closer every day. He can throw up a shield as long as he has mana to power it, but there is no reason not to learn basic self-defence. If it also gives him a reason to feel Lothar’s strength and see his mind at work, watch his control and his grace as he practices with his sword, then that’s just between him and his conscience.

Khadgar isn’t very good at sparring: Lothar knocks him down more often than not. His latest attempt sees him thrown into the dirt of the training floor more than half a dozen times: the other soldiers have abandoned the ring for more entertaining pursuits than watching their commander thrash him for the tenth time.

Khadgar pushes himself off the floor and faces Lothar again, nodding. Lothar grins wickedly and moves in once more for the attack. Khadgar dodges as best he can, but Lothar is lightning fast and well-trained: even without his sword, it is unnerving to have him stalk about the ring after Khadgar, like one of the Frostwolf Clan mounts.

He realises Lothar is herding him toward the edge of the ring and moves away while he can. He sticks his tongue out at Lothar, pleased to have seen his plan, only to stumble and fall when Lothar rushes him. He hits the ground rolling, and lashes out with a spell: he isn’t supposed to use magic when sparring, but Lothar has told him many times to use everything at his disposal while fighting for his life.

Lothar goes down hard and Khadgar rushes to pin him before he can get up to defend himself. He’s flushed with his own success, until he looks down to gloat and flushes for an entirely different reason.

He’s knelt over Lothar, pinning his wrists against the ground. Lothar’s eyes are wide: astonishment that Khadgar managed to get one over on him, he supposes, but it’s all too easy to imagine him wide-eyed, with pupils blown for some other reason, his strong body beneath Khadgar, his arms pulling him down to kiss.

“Are you going to let me up anytime soon?” Lothar coughs, and flexes his wrists. Khadgar knows he could pull free at any moment: that he waits for Khadgar to release him sends a shiver down his spine. Reluctantly, he lets go.

“You’re just grumpy because I beat you,” he says, standing up and offering Lothar a hand.

Lothar doesn’t take it. “Yes, your amazing record of one to nine vexes me greatly.” He chuckles uneasily and pulls himself to his feet. “Next time you might even manage to defeat me without magic.”

Khadgar frowns. “I used what I had, as you keep telling me.”

“So you do listen when it suits you.” He dusts himself off and heads for the barracks. “I just remembered I have something to discuss with the men, you’ll have to excuse me.” Khadgar watches him go forlornly.

Does Lothar not know that Khadgar is interested? He must, surely: Lothar is witty and brave and kind. He’s admired by men and women throughout the land; Khadgar has heard the gossip in the taverns, among the servants at the keep. Maybe he’s just used to people flirting with him. Maybe he hasn’t even noticed. Khadgar frowns. Maybe Lothar isn’t interested after all.

He doesn’t give up hope, exactly, but there are only so many times Khadgar can throw himself at someone before he starts to feel disgusting, as if he can’t take no for an answer. Perhaps Lothar simply isn’t ready, so soon after Garona’s loss. And it isn’t as though his friendship with Lothar is something to be scorned. Khadgar is grateful for his company and his trust. He resigns himself to quietly getting over it. If Lothar frowns more than he used to, seems confused when Khadgar doesn’t touch him as often, then it’ll be worth it to give Lothar the friendship he wants.

 

* * *

 

Khadgar hasn’t seen Lothar all day: he has news from a Kirin Tor scout regarding the Horde’s latest movements. He asks around; Queen Taria hasn’t seen her brother either. Eventually he works his way into the kitchens, where some polite wheedling nets him the information that Anduin Lothar has been holed up in his study all day, with meals brought up to him. Khadgar thanks the cook for her time and teleports upstairs.

Lothar is at his desk. The regency has been hard on Lothar: he is built for a clean fight, not the subtleties of diplomacy, and it grates on him. But he will see his duty done, both to his family and the kingdom, and that is why Khadgar finds him here, squinting at some aristocrat’s letter in the guttering candlelight, making notes in his crabbed hand.

“It’s late,” Khadgar murmurs, not wanting to disturb him.

Lothar looks up. “I’m almost done.” He finishes whatever he was writing and drops the quill, flexing his hand. “Did you want something?”

“There are reports of Horde outriders near the Redridge Mountains. We’ll have to do something about them before they get any closer to Stormwind.” He pauses, noticing Lothar rubbing at his sword hand. “Come here.”

He takes Lothar’s hand before he can think too much about it, massaging the knots out gently. “You are better suited to a sword than a pen.”

Lothar stifles a groan and smiles. “They say it’s mightier than the sword.”

Khadgar finishes his massage but Lothar doesn’t take his hand back. The moment stretches long and liquid in the candlelight: Lothar’s face glows. The skin of his palms is soft, but the callouses of his fingertips are hard; Khadgar can’t stop himself touching them. He looks into Lothar’s eyes, sees his pupils dilate.

“Will you take me to bed?”

The words slip out into the space between them like mist. Lothar’s hand twitches, but he doesn’t let go. Lothar himself looks as though he’s been poleaxed.

“You would want to? Truly, with me?” he says cautiously, as though this might be some joke Khadgar is playing on him.

Khadgar snorts. “Anduin, who else could I possibly want?” He’s sure now, finally.

“That Quel’Thalas jeweller was interested. And the Gilnean ambassador has been making eyes at you. Or that young blacksmith in the Trade District.” Anduin doesn’t meet his eyes. “Many wish to court you, and many would be a better prospect than an old warrior with little experience.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, you’re not that ol—” Khadgar stops suddenly, only now processing the end of that sentence. By the Light, it all makes sense.

He reaches out and cups Anduin’s cheek. Anduin is looking at him now, dark eyes staring into him. “So you have need of a teacher?” He teases.

Anduin smirks, frown clearing as he grasps Khadgar’s meaning. He holds Khadgar’s hand where it touches his jaw, runs fingers across the pulse point at his wrist. “I might not have knowledge of the specifics, but I wager I know enough of the general theory, bookworm.”

Khadgar’s laugh is cut off as Anduin pulls him into a gentle kiss. He resists the urge to hold him there, mindful of this new information. He lets Anduin control when the kiss ends, but he can’t resist nipping at his jaw before he moves back.

Anduin’s eye are serious as he looks at Khadgar. “You know that for me, this is not just play. That I care for you, Khadgar. If you do not feel the same—”

“I do. I have. For months now, in fact.” He sighs. “I want to be with you, Anduin.” He waits until he sees acceptance of the truth in Anduin’s face.

“Well, in that case, teach me, O wise one,” Anduin teases, heading to his bed.

Khadgar smiles and follows him, eager to do just that.


End file.
